“Didn’t breathe her last right away. No, I took my time. Made her do all sorts of things. His Lordship got bored, so I snapped her neck. Easy.”
“You sick bastard.” Despite Celeste’s selfishness and infidelity, she didn’t deserve to die that way. “Who is his Lordship?”
Cuthbert leaned into Anthony’s face, his breath tainted with rancid bacon. “You’ll never know who he is. I’m going to get that traitorous wife of mine and strangle her…and take great delight doing so. Make her pay. Maybe I’ll take a time or too with the Colonial. Let you watch.”
“Keep your hands off her.” Anthony fought against the ropes, every muscle and sinew pushed beyond endurance. The thought of Cuthbert touching Rachel brought out his sinister impulses.Bonneville. The highwaymen. He had barely stopped himself from snapping their neck’s in front of her.
Smoke spiraled up the stairs. Cuthbert cackled. “My men have a nice fire started. Sorry, Miss Thorne to deprive you of the pleasure of my company. I’ll bid you adieu.” He hung the lantern on a beam and clunked down the stairs.
“You should not feel responsible for your wife, Anthony,” Rachel said. “I know the guilt you carried, not protecting her”
What a fool he’d been. No wonder Celeste hadn’t wanted him to accompany her. Brick by brick, the wall he’d spent so many years erecting and fortifying, splintered and shattered.
“Celeste had culpability cheating on you with Lord Ward. Cuthbert killed her. None of what occurred with Celeste was your fault. It was evil.”
How he had distanced himself for protection, wallowing in the delusion of being unable to love. Celeste did not love him. Love went both ways.
“A wise man once told me, ‘The experiences of our past are the architects of our present and to not let the bad overwhelm what is good’.”
Rachel lashed him with his own words. For the first time in eons, the gnawing ache inside him faded away.
“We’ve got to get free.”
Rachel stated the obvious.
Anthony worked at the knots, scanning the contents of the attic. The reclusive sea captain had a collection of oddities that would have rivaled Montagu House Museum in Bloomsbury. Outside, Casey’s barking echoed through the countryside. Cuthbert and his men slammed the door. Would they gloat at the fireworks?
“See that bottle on the table labeled, sulfuric acid? Do you think it’s really sulfuric acid? Casey! Here Casey!” She called to the dog.
The woman was made for bedlam. “No matter how faithful you think that mutt is, she will never hurl herself into fire. And what can she do, untie knots with her teeth?”
“Casey! Here Casey!”
Nothing. Then through the snap and crackle of fire rushed the patter of paws. Hair singed, the dog jumped on Anthony, licking his face.”
“You were saying?”
Anthony scoffed. “Impress me with your next feat. The mutt will sprout wings and fly?”
She cooed to the dog. “Get the bottle.”
The dog ran and retrieved the bottle.
Rachel stretched her fingers, grasped the bottom of the flask.
“Unbelievable. If we get out of this alive, the mutt can have all the bottles she wants. Oceans of them. Next is the tricky part.” Anthony jumped his chair closer to Rachel’s, stretched his fingers, pulled the stopper out. “Pour it on the ropes, not my hands. There is rapid destruction of skin tissue if it comes in contact, goes right to the bone.”
“You don’t have to remind me, but you try performing the task tied to a chair.”
Anthony spread his hands away, leaned forward. He smelled acid burning through jute.
“How long do you estimate?”
He heard the worry in her voice, grunted, using his weight to tug against the rope so it would snap. “Couldn’t even guess?”
“That’s unusual. You always have a formula.”
“Did think once about how long it would take Lord Ward to dissolve in a vat of acid.”
